Once
by stormnml
Summary: We read about the heroes. We read about the clowns. But what about the ones who go unsung? (Or: A series of vignettes about people who are completely unimportant.) So, I'm officially calling this my Once!AU verse. Once I got the characters in my head, they kinda took over. Oops.
1. There Was Sky

**A/N: Alright, so this has been sitting on my computer for a few months and was never supposed to be released, but... well, a friend convinced me that maybe it's worth a try. So, without further ado...**

 **Summary: We read about the heroes. We read about the clowns. But what about the ones who go unsung?**

 **(Or: A series of vignettes about someone completely unimportant.)**

* * *

The sky has been Kenneth Smith's dream for as long as he can remember. Something about the vast, blue, never ending skies calls to him, an incessant tugging in his gut that never fades and keeps him awake at night. That blue fills him with a feeling of hope.

So when Fuse colors that beautiful blue sky a torrid green, Kenneth cannot help but feel that hope slip away.

(And that is the conqueror's goal: to rip away anything that might incite resistance.)

(What Fuse forgets - or perhaps has never encountered: humanity, when left without a hope, always finds a new hope to take its place.)

(Humanity fights back.)

As Kenneth watches the color of the hopeful blue sky turn to murky, putrid green - the rotten smell of decay and the hazardous stench of smoke burning his lungs and nose - he grasps onto his new hope.

When videos of the DexLabs rally circulate on the Net, Kenneth packs a duffel bag and runs through the smog for the nearest ECF recruiting station.

He does not turn back when he hears his mother begging him to return. He does not stop for five year old Emily, his sister only seven years younger than him, as she scrambles to catch up to her big brother. He does not look back at his house.

He grasps his hope firmly knowing that no matter what, he will not let go.

* * *

"Name?"

"Kenneth Smith."

"No, your chosen name."

Kenneth stares blankly at the KND operative seated across the desk. The kid, about two years younger, cocks an eyebrow.

"As much as we detest it, we _do_ work with villains and," the boy shudders, "grown-ups. Choosing a new name is for your own safety."

Kenneth does not hesitate.

"Sky."

"You sure? I mean, we have kids going around with names like Jazzy Livestreak and-"

Sky cuts him off, "Just Sky."

"Well then, Sky, what do you want to do? We can put you in a squad of ground forces, you can learn how to sneak around for us, you can-"

"I want to pilot."

The boy's lips purse, "Pilot? That's a bit of a long shot, but…" He rifles through the papers stacked to his left. Finding the one he was looking for, the boy slams it down on the desktop, saying, "I can put this in your file, but you'll have to prove you're up to it at Basic."

The boy leans back in his chair with the clipboard holding Sky's application. "Now. Ben, Mojo Jojo, Edd, or Dexter?"

* * *

"You're all here for basic training," Commander Ben Tennyson calls out to the eighty-four recruits standing in loose - emphasis on _loose_ \- formation. His words wash over the eager children and teens who all drink them up eagerly as if they were pieces of candy flung from Stickybeard himself. "At the end of this course you will be tested for aptitude and placed where your mentor sees fit."

One of the girls - she's too young, too much like Emily - to Sky's right in the row ahead of him throws a pale hand into the air.

The commander shakes his head and says gently, "Your guide will make sure to look at your requests." He claps his hands together with a tight grin and shouts, "Sort yourselves by mentor! Dexter to the far right! My group behind me! Mojo to the far left! Edds, stay where you are."

Sky joins his fellow Dexters, sixteen in all.

* * *

Sky quickly becomes known for his excellent marksmanship and unwavering focus during missions among his training squad.

(He is also known for the strange look in his eyes anytime someone mentions the color green and his penchant for gazing up at the sky in mid-conversation, but no one says anything.)

(They call him Dreamy.)

"Your mission is to find the group of Soulo Shells hidden in Sector V, once you find 'em, you have to kill four in sixty seconds," Numbuh 2 explains to the recruits. "This is your last mission before you take on your first Fusion and take your A.T., so remember everything we've taught you so far."

(He doesn't explain that Mojo, Edd, Ben, and a hologram of Dexter are all hidden in the area as well. This is the final exam.)

"GO!"

Sky's team of four leap off the back of their S.C.A.M.P.E.R. and onto the streets, Crystal Fireheart taking point. The squad, a well-oiled machine after two weeks of doing everything together, tears through Sector V with a vengeance as they follow Treesa's instructions. The KND Treehouse looms in the distance, a towering presence in the now abandoned neighborhood.

The Soulo Shells sit at the base of the chains tethering Sector V's floating base to the earth.

Sky aims his Null-Void carefully and fires.

* * *

Numbuh 2 announces that Soulo Shells will never be used for training again.

* * *

Acidic rain soundlessly pelts carefully crafted DexLabs force shields as forty remaining recruits stand at attention, much more orderly than the day they first arrived a little over two weeks ago.

The graduation and placement ceremony - which sounds incredibly pompous, not that anyone complains - is somber as it gains another purpose: a memorial.

Sky stares at the screen flashing images of the fallen recruits as Ben calls them by their chosen names.

 _Tristan Darkwolf. Ellie Whiskers. Terrence Ectoshock. Riley Sky…_

The image of the girl from the first day flashes on the screen before being replaced by the next face.

* * *

That night, Sky names one of the few stars that can shine through the haze after Riley.

That night, Sky binds Riley's memory to his hope.

* * *

"You'll be flying squads to their mission sites in one of these," his new CO, Gilly Featherflight, says, her hand motioning to a carrier class plane. "These get used for priority missions and long trips, and you'll be flying right into warzones. You alright with that?"

Sky ignores the question. "How often will I be flying?"

Gilly stops in her tracks and glares at the boy. "If that's what you're worried about, you can go pilot the S.C.A.M.P.E.R.S.."

"I just want to do my part in the war," Sky placates, his hands raised in the air submissively.

Gilly nods. "Good. Now come on. You have a squad waiting for you in Hangar 1."

* * *

His first flight is to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania with a small squad of six led by an eleven year old boy.

Sky names three more stars.

* * *

"That last one was close!" Kevin "Weave" Lostwind crows, sweeping into the recreation center reserved just for pilots with all the bravado of a peacock. At just barely fifteen, the ruddy haired youth is the second oldest pilot in the force. He plops himself onto the barstool to the left of Sky and calls, "Large root beer!"

The DexBot acting as the bartender wheels away to comply.

"So, how're you, Dreamy?"

(Something the kids at basic never knew: he actually likes the nickname.)

(Something the boy who coined it will never know: he likes it because he didn't know the boy's name.)

(Something only Sky knows: there's a star named Dreamy.)

Sky stares into his own mud of frothing soda and shrugs. "Just got back from another drop off in Seattle," he replies. "Team of eighteen. Sixteen made it out."

The teen next to him sobers at the news. "I lost three in the jump," he murmurs as the bot returns with a giant mug. "I had to take off as the last two were running out of the woods. They didn't make it in time."

"'M sorry Weave."

"Yeah, me too," the teen says as he hops off of the stool. He makes his way over to a large chalkboard on one of the walls that has dozens of tally marks and adds five to the total.

(Before the rec room closes for the night, nine more make it onto the board.)

* * *

Another fusion monster makes a beeline for the plane's right engine and Sky has to bank left to dodge.

"What's goin' on out there?" Numbuh 5 questions from behind him.

"Dragon Fries," Sky replies through gritted teeth. The pilot makes another sudden maneuver to avoid the assailants. "Do you think you guys can get dropped off a little further from the mission site than we planned? I don't think I can get you guys to a safe zone to make the jump."

The KND operative places a hand on his shoulder. "We're Sector V, kid. Just tell us when."

* * *

That night, for the first time since that last day of Basic, Sky does not name any new stars.

* * *

He finds Gilly on the roof, her orange jumpsuit a stark contrast against the vivid green skies. She's standing on the edge of the building, toes just over the ledge. Her midnight black hair flutter's in a soft breeze.

"You left pretty quickly back there. You okay?" he asks, not really wanting to get any further from the doorway in case he needs to make a hasty escape.

The young woman nods. "I'm just thinking."

"Well, um… maybe you could think a little further from the edge?"

An empty laugh comes from his commander. "I'm not going to jump, Sky. You know me better than that. Besides, I think Lostwind would bring me back from the dead and kill me again if I did."

Strangely enough, that image isn't too difficult for Sky to conjure up. "Not if the paperwork doesn't kill him first."

As silence envelopes the two pilots, something draws Sky to the edge of the building next to the woman. He can hear the few birds spared of Fuse's initial attacks chirping below; the breeze picks up the scent of fresh flowers and for just a moment, he's not embroiled in a bitter war or flying child soldiers to their deaths every day.

"Terry Mayhem," Gilly speaks into the wind which seems to carry the name along its current. "Lily Kline, Ida Lineway."

A sense of awe takes over Sky and he realizes that he has been privilege to a sacred ritual the likes of which very few, if any, have ever seen. The litany continues, a haunting series of names that fly off into the wind to be sent to every corner of the earth.

Even as she finishes her list, the teen says nothing, his words completely lost. The two stand again in silence, letting the breeze wash over them.

"I trust the wind to take them home," she says suddenly as if she needs to explain herself.

He looks up into the fading light. "I trust stars."

* * *

"Where did you get the sugar, flour, and eggs? And are those some of Numbuh 4's fireworks we're not supposed to know about?" Sky asks amid the raucous singing of every single pilot and engineer currently on base.

Kevin shoves his shoulder playfully. "Quit over-analyzing it, Dreamy! It's your birthday! Blow out the 'crackers before they blow up!" His blue eyes sparkle with an excitement Sky hasn't seen in a long time, not that he's been looking for it.

"If those contraptions blow up, Weave, it's coming out of _your_ wallet!" Gilly shouts over the din. The eighteen year old's dark hair shimmers in the dim light of the sparklers. "Come on, Sky! Get your butt in gear and _blow_!"

(What Kevin doesn't tell him: he and the guys pooled every taro they had between them to get the supplies for a cake.)

(What Kevin also doesn't tell him: the group didn't mind one bit. They're just glad he's alive.)

Sky chuckles at that and complies to a cacophony of cheers.

(What Sky doesn't say: his shoulder throbs every time he looks at the small flames.)

(What Sky also doesn't say: he still hasn't escaped the stench of burning fuel and flesh from the crash even three weeks after the fact.)

The air is dense with heat and reeks of sweaty uniforms and unbathed feet, the singing is awful, and the cake has egg shells littered throughout, but as a bunch of kids and teenagers get high on sugar, Sky feels right at home amongst the rowdy bunch of friends he has made in the past ten months.

(What everyone tries to ignore: the tallies on the wall glow in the dimmed lights.)

* * *

"I nearly got hit by a fusion fall today!" one of the younger pilots, Ezekiel Treadblast, shrieks as he runs through the doors to Sky and Kevin's shared quarters.

Kevin, his lithe form draped over one of the armchairs in the corner, lifts his head from his comic and says with a smirk, "Zeke, the odds of that are a billion to one. Better think up a new one for us."

(Something the pilots will never understand: Ezekiel's never lied.)

(Something the pilots will never realize: Ezekiel's a harbinger for things to come.)

* * *

 _Blood. Blood and heat. Unrelenting heat that licks at his skin and clings to his bones. His head pounds with the rain. Smoke smothers his lungs. His leaden tongue refuses to work, refuses to call out into the ringing air, or maybe it does, and he cannot feel it move._

 _Something hot and sharp presses down on his back, pinning him to the rough ground, holding him in place for any enemy that might decide he might just make a decent snack. Off to his left, a head, one that he cannot identify because the fire has already devoured its features, stares blankly at him through the smoke and ash and oh God, he's going to die here, just like that head. Oh, God, he's going to die he's going to die he's going to -_

"Sky! Wake up, damn you! Wake up!"

 _No!_ _ **He**_ _can't be here! Not him! He struggles beneath debris, metal shifting on his back. This isn't happening it's not -_

"Sky! Sky! You're not there! _I'm_ not there!"

 _What? But the fire and the heat..._

He wakes to the sound of his own screams. A pair of frightened blue eyes meet his in the darkness; strong hands press his shoulders firmly into the mattress. Sky's screams subside as he realizes that he's not in that godforsaken field in Wyoming among burning wreckage, but trapped beneath the larger body of Kevin Lostwind.

The older teen's face contorts from fear to a mix between concern and confusion. "Hey, uh… dumb question, but are you alright?"

Sky keens, heaving sobs wracking his body. The hands leave his shoulders and he curls into a fetal position. Kevin shifts above him, and suddenly, Sky's head is laying in a warm lap with soft fingers running through his hair.

The nightmares vanish with the morning mist as wisps of sunlight peek through heavy green smog.

* * *

Sky grins at the DexBot on the other side of the counter. "Hey," he says, flipping two taros across the polished surface, "get me two root beers, will ya?"

"You're goin' at it hard today!" one of the younger pilots yells from the darts corner. "You gonna need any help guzzlin' that stuff down?" The group of soldiers around him erupts into laughter.

Sky pales slightly at the thought of how many taros he would lose just from the one pilot alone.

(Fact: Just one pilot can go through six mugs of soda in an hour.)

(Fact: There's no such thing as drinks on the house anymore. Last time, the rec room was out of soda for two weeks.)

"Nah," he calls back, willing his stomach to quit wringing itself in knots, "the second one's for Lostwind."

The group in the corner quiets almost immediately. "I've heard Weave's on the warpath again," Ezekiel says from his spot on the floor. "He's had a rough couple of days."

"I wouldn't know. I had the Vermont Run," Sky murmurs. A number of heads bob in sympathy. Vermont Runs are always the worst. The trip is two days of numerous pickups and drop offs all over the east coast.

The doors to the Rec Room slam into the walls with a loud clang and every pilot in the room jumps. Sky's stomach turns as Kevin storms through the doors, his cheeks flaming red and hands clenched. The teen marches to the bar, snatches the waiting mug of root beer off the countertop, and growls into the stunned silence, "What the hell are you all looking at?"

At his words, the tension in the room dissolves into uneasy chatter.

"Hey," Sky says. A broad grin spreads across his face. "Did Eddy get into your taro stash again or something? 'Cause I'm absolutely in the mood for another prank war if he did."

The lights above them flicker slightly. Kevin stares at the floor as if he just wants to dissolve in it. "Nah, my taro stash is good," he says. A bitter laugh escapes his mouth. "Unlike everything else around here."

"Lostwind, will you get your head out of your rudders? You're on break," Sky says, gesturing wildly into the air, "take a load off."

Kevin's shoulders tense at his words and his cheeks grow red once more, but the teen sets his face in a dark grimace rather than say anything more.

Sky's grin wavers at the change in his friend. He presses on, not sure if his courage will hold for much longer, "So, uh… Kevin." He clears his throat experimentally. "I... uh-"

"Gilly went down today," Kevin whispers into his mug.

Sky's happy expression drops from his face. The air between the two teens suddenly grows cold as if someone has sucked the joy and playfulness from it. Sky flounders for a moment before he finishes lamely, "-am so sorry."

"Me too."

Sky's internal organs wrench again. _So much for that discussion._

* * *

Over the next few weeks, a new chalkboard goes up on the wall opposite the original.

This one takes initials.

(Commander Lostwind, with his shiny new stripes, makes a toast for the first set, GF, to grace the board.)

(Commander Lostwind, with his shiny new stripes, drinks himself to sleep an hour later.)

Sky names eight more stars.

* * *

The wind rushing over the top of the tower whips Sky's shaggy brown hair into his eyes, but he is too focused on the aerial battle taking place above his head.

A transport ship _Amber_ banks hard right in an attempt to ram into one of the fusion monsters flitting around the craft's engine. Sky grits his teeth as another fusion monster takes a dive at the engine and barely misses. _That was too close._

::Sky, they're too high in the air, we can't use the turrets,:: Ezekiel reports through the Com Unit nestled in the Lieutenant's ear. ::And we can't get up there ourselves. Mandy's put out a grounding order.::

"We're not going to let him fly solo," Sky growls. He turns quickly on his heel and marches back into the building, nodding at the security guards he passes along the way to Hangar 5.

Kevin, under the influence of a powerful sugar high, had once confided that Dexter was building new ships, a set of fighter jets Commander Tennyson had dubbed "Project Warbird". He'd whispered their location into Sky's ear before falling onto the floor, dead asleep.

(Sky finds it absolutely hilarious that the mighty Commander Lostwind can't hold his root beer.)

Sky slips into the hangar and immediately makes his way over to a terminal along the right wall that was half hidden by large crates. Taking in the state of the panels, he momentarily wonders if Kevin's info is wrong. Numerous buttons are missing and the main interface screen has a large crack running through the glass. At the motion of his hand waving over the screen, the display flickers to life, the DexLabs logo spinning in its center.

Sky carefully places a finger on the upper right hand corner of the screen and pushes down.

 _CRACK!_

The sound echoes in the massive bay; pounding footsteps and worried shouts follow. Sky silently wills the secret door to appear more quickly as the terminal sinks into the floor and the walls slowly part. As soon as there is enough room for him to enter, the teen dives into the secret passage.

"Hey! You're not supposed to be in there!" a voice cries behind him.

Sky ignores the voice and simply moves forward. It is not long until he comes across another hangar. Five ships, sleek and powerful in design, rest in docking stations. As per emergency procedure, all personnel not on emergency security duty have evacuated to the bunkers two floors down; the pilot has the hangar to himself.

Sky hops into one of the crafts and examines the controls. The setup seems to be that of a carrier class plane, a familiar model to be sure. He flies through the motions, performing cursory pre-flight checks as the system roars to life. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the security guards running into the hangar.

::Lieutenant, what do you think you are doing?::

Sky glares at the communication screen Dexter had apparently built into the windshield. Said genius glared back, his face strangely passive, but with fire in his eyes.

"I'm taking out those fusion monsters, unlike _some_ people I know."

The corner of the redhead's mouth twists into a mirthless smirk. ::How do you expect to get out?:: he asks in a clipped tone. ::The bay doors are closed. You will crash and accomplish nothing.::

Kevin sighs. "Dexter, I'll give you a chance. Open the bay doors, or I'll blast my way through them." It is an empty threat, and both teens know it. It's said Don Doom couldn't blast through those things and DexLabs rumors, unlike most, are safer believed than not.

(The KND learned that the hard way when they tried to raid the pantry. The encounter ended with three explosions, six sore children, and a defense system Dexter had managed to sell to the _Pentagon_ firing on all cylinders.)

(Needless to say, Dexter was not amused.)

(Most DexLabs employees, however, enjoyed the incident immensely.)

The boy genius on the other end of the line raises an eyebrow and answers, ::Threatening DexLabs is not in your best interest, Lieutenant.::

The guards are getting closer. "Please, Dexter," he pleads, "open the bay doors." Another explosion sounds outside the building and the teen's gut wrenches painfully. "I need to get up there."

::Lieutenant, Commander Lostwind speaks highly of you,:: Dexter says; his Russian accent cuts through the tense atmosphere inside the jet. ::Do not crash my jet.::

The bay doors open slowly. Sky thinks the sight is just about the most beautiful sight on the planet. "I won't sir," he whispers.

He pushes the throttle forward and the jet races into the sky.

* * *

" _Amber_ , this is Warbird Alpha, what's your status?" the Sky calls into his mike. Smoke pours out of the bulky transport ship, yet it stays aloft. The rogue pilot takes another shot at the fusions surrounding the ship's left engines.

The communicator crackles to life. ::Warbird Alpha? I thought the Warbird class ships were still in testing,:: the other pilot answers. ::Not that I'm not grateful or anything, but - Hang on a minute! Kenneth? Is that you?::

A wry chuckle escapes Sky's mouth. "Yeah, Kev, it's me. I might've commandeered one of these beauties."

::Sky, you - You know what? I'm not getting into this with you right now.:: Sky can hear the irritation in his friend's voice. ::Here's the deal: I've got one of my four engines out. Right side, back turbine. You see it?::

Sky yanks the throttles towards his torso, taking the Warbird above the scene. Sure enough, most of the smoke rolling off of the ship comes from the specified engine. He affirms the analysis.

::Alright, I need you to defend the other engine on that side until I can fly this thing through the shields safely. If it goes out, well... you get the picture.::

An image of the _Amber_ falling into a tailspin flashes across Sky's vision. He tightens his grip on the controls and answers with as much bravado as he can muster, "I'm on it, Kev. No fusion monster is taking out our Commander of the Air Corps." The teen pushes the jet forward into a nosedive, taking out fusion after fusion with his cannons. He drives the Terrordactyls away from the singular working engine and stations himself to where the jet is circling just above the plane.

"Alright, I'm in position. You're in the clear to make a run."

A grunt is his only answer. The engine beneath Sky's jet revs and the transport speeds straight for the Dexlabs outpost. Sky brings his own machine just behind his partner's, sending volley after volley of blaster shots into the mass of oncoming monsters.

He doesn't see the Fusion Blossom coming up from below the carrier.

* * *

Sky is numb as the KND operative pulls his arms into cuffs behind his back; he barely registers someone reading him his rights. How can he when he stands in the center of the wreckage, ash raining from the sky, smoke choking his lungs, knowing that Kevin is dead and _it's all his fault_?

He doesn't feel his hands twisting in their cool restraints.

* * *

"Why, Sky? Why did you do it?" Ezekiel whispers from his chair on the other side of the force field. He stares at the floor, steel blue eyes boring into the metal. "They're talking about grounding you." His eyes leave the floor and connect with Sky's. "Why would you risk that?"

Sky elects to say nothing. He sits in his corner, hands twisting in the cuffs, eyes completely glazed over.

Ezekiel sighs and leaves.

* * *

"Lieutenant, I did not open those doors just for you to mope like Deedee when I ban her from my laboratory," a soft, yet commanding voice says.

Sky opens his eyes warily. Dexter stands just outside the force field, his posture rigid and firm in the bright brig lights. The incarcerated teen shrinks a little further into his corner at the sight of his former guide.

"Your hearing is in three days. I suggest you prepare yourself," the teen genius continues curtly. His intense gaze turns to the cameras watching over his Agent. "Good luck, Lieutenant."

* * *

The air in the room is stifling. Sky twists his wrists in the cuffs almost habitually; he has had them on since they arrested him. Thirteen silhouettes line the wall of the circular room they've decided will be his end. He doesn't understand the need for secrecy, but he finds that he simply doesn't care anymore.

"Lieutenant Sky," a voice booms in the silence, "you disobeyed direct orders, stole a prototype jet, and embarked on an unsuccessful and unauthorized mission. We'd like to know why."

Sky's heart begins to beat much faster; he can almost hear the blood rushing to his head. "I-" a horrific cough immediately wells up from his unused throat. He tries again, "I was trying to save my friend's life." His voice is hoarse from disuse, but he forges ahead, "He'd told me once about the Warbird project, and it seemed like a good time to take one for a test run."

"Your "test run" cost the lives of four agents, kid. Give me a better reason and I might not beat you to a pulp!" Sky flinches at the outburst and his hands twist more quickly than before. If not for the bandages covering his wrists, he's sure there would be blood dripping on the pristine white tile floor.

"Calm yourself, Juror Twelve. Threats like that will not help the situation," another voice chides. One of the shadows, most likely the one who made the threat, grumbles and shifts in his or her chair. "Now, Lieutenant Sky," this time, instead of a booming tone, the voice is much more soft and gentle, "the penalty for your behavior is permanent grounding. Are you sure this is your answer to our inquiry?"

A sick feeling twists in the teen's gut. His answer could be the end of his days as a pilot, but he cannot find the words to make his defense. Throbbing ignites in his wrists; pain builds behind his eyes as he tries to process every thought and emotion racing through his brain.

"I did it because I love him," he whispers. Even at a whisper, his words reverberate in the mostly empty room. The thirteen shadows and his guards, the only other people beside himself, shift uncomfortably. "I love flying, but that doesn't matter anymore," he continues, tears welling in his eyes, "he's dead. And no amount of flying is going to bring him back."

One of the shadows leans forward and into the light. A flash of red seeps through the wetness in his eyes and he can only stare at the face he's seen in his dreams. Rage and exhaustion undulate in bright blue eyes; a mixture of emotions tug his facial features in all different directions. Sky feels a timid hope rise in his chest, but as his best friend's - no, crush's - face settle into a dark frown, that hope is replaced by fear and despair.

"You had him locked up for _three weeks_ and never told him I was _**alive**_!" Kevin Lostwind yells. "No wonder he's a wreck!"

The floor rushes to meet Sky's face and he blacks out.

* * *

 _Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

Sky cringes at the high pitched sound. Not the best wake up call he's ever had. He opens his eyes slowly, hissing as they adjust to the bright light assaulting his senses. There's a faint scent of alcohol in the air, and he can just barely hear the bustle of harried nurses and lab techs. He's in the infirmary.

"You know, I just got out of here. I'd really hoped I wouldn't be back anytime soon."

"Kevin?" Sky whispers. If it's even possible, his voice feels more chalky than before. He fixes his gaze on the teen to the left of his hospital bed. A series of questions overtake his thoughts, but none were more important than, "You're not dead?"

Kevin's face twists into a teasing smirk. "Nope. Not dead at all." His face sours as he says, "But it was a close thing."

"But you went down! I didn't cover you and you crashed!" Sky cries, his body trying to jerk itself upright. Something tugs at his arms and keeps him in place. He looks down and is surprised to find his arms strapped to the hospital bed frame.

Kevin follows his gaze and murmurs, "Yeah, sorry about those. I tried to reason with the bigwigs, but…" He gestures pitifully at the leather straps. "Protocol or some BS like that."

He leans back in his chair. "As for the crash, I was one of the few who managed to survive. Don't ask me how," he says. "Apparently one of the KND found me and brought me back to base not long after they put you in the brig. I was pretty banged up." He lifts his red t-shirt to show his stomach. Sky winces at the sight of numerous bandages and bruises littering the soft flesh. "I was in the infirmary for three weeks trying to heal. That's why they waited so long to get your hearing done."

"They never told me," Sky whispers. He doesn't trust his voice to not crack, so he stops himself before he can say anything too embarrassing.

Kevin's face contorts into the same rage he had in the courtroom. "Yeah, that was abundantly clear. Turns out, in the confusion, everyone assumed that you knew. Even Zeke didn't figure it out 'till much later." His eyes drop to the floor, whether out of guilt or something else, Sky isn't sure. "They wouldn't let me out of the room, so I couldn't come see you."

Guilt then. Definitely guilt. Damn these restraints! What he wouldn't give to be able to reach out and lay a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder. "It's not your fault, Kev. I didn't see it coming." Sky lets out a shuddering breath. "I should've seen it."

A dark look crosses the other teen's face. "You're one person, Sky. If you hadn't been up there, I'd definitely be another set of initials on the board." He sighs, placing a hand on Sky's arm. "Well, they're moving your hearing back a week to let you process everything. So we have some time to get things sorted."

"What sort of things?" Sky asks. He has a feeling he knows what it's about.

"You can't just say you love me and expect that I'd just forget about it, dummy," Kevin says with a smirk.

* * *

Sky stares straight ahead, trying very hard not to fidget too much. The thirteen shadows seem to stare him down as he stands before them. His heart is pounds in his ears. This is it. This is where he loses everything.

"Lieutenant Sky, for disobeying orders and stealing a prototype jet, you will be stripped of your rank and prohibited from flying missions for a month," Juror 1 decrees. Sky sags in relief. He'll lose his shared quarters with Kevin, and he won't be able to go on missions for a while, but he's not losing too much.

The guards move to free the teen's wrists from their restraints, but Juror 1 says, "We're not done."

Anxiety builds in his stomach. What else are they taking? He wildly looks to Juror 11, but the silhouette is stock still.

"For saving the life of your superior officer, we name you Commander of the Sky Raiders."

Wait. What?

He can almost hear the smug satisfaction in Juror 1's voice as he continues, "You will spend the next month selecting and training your Warbird squadron. Congratulations."

This time, Sky doesn't faint, but it's a close call.

* * *

It takes Sky a week to pick his team.

Ezekiel Treadblast, a dependable second.

Tanner Circuitshredder, a cocky ace pilot.

Raze, a speedster.

Nevermore, a sharpshot.

It takes Dexter three days to make a fusionfall tracker.

They're cleared for flight in two weeks.

* * *

::Raider Two, checking in.::

::Raider Three, ready and waiting.::

The process continues for the next few seconds until Sky ends it with, "Raider Leader, flyin' high. Alright guys, let's go blast ourselves a fusion fall."

* * *

::Raider Four! You've got a horrordactyl on your tail!::

::I see it, Raider Five! Think you can get it for me?::

Sky allows himself a small smirk, his hands throttling the controls to his fighter. This is what he had wanted two years ago: a chance to fly through the skies uninhibited by passengers or bulk.

Two more shots from his guns dissolve a horrordactyl into fusion matter.

"Does anyone have eyes on the package?" Sky shouts.

::I think I see it south of your position, Raider Leader. Should we engage?::

"Whoever's closest, make a move on it. Everyone else, give 'em cover fire," the commander orders.

* * *

Sky stumbles into his quarters tired and sore, but grinning from ear to ear.

"So, I heard it was a job well done," Kevin says from his chair.

The pilot crosses the room to give his roommate a peck on the cheek. "And I heard you had a hard day."

Kevin mutters something under his breath and pulls Sky into a full on kiss. The two come up for air a little more red than before. "Think you can make it better?" he whispers into Sky's ear.

* * *

"You sure you want to do this?"

Kevin looks up from his packing, his eyes full of longing. "I haven't flown in over a year, Sky. This is the first mission I've been offered since the crash," he says. "I'm going stir crazy in the command center!" He grabs a shirt from the bureau next to his side of the bed.

"I get that, believe me, but I don't like the idea of you being gone for two weeks. Or the idea of you entering ground combat! You're not trained for that kind of stuff!"

"I won't be in the thick of things, Kenneth," Kevin snaps. His mouth pulls itself into a deep frown as he says much more calmly, "I need you to trust me, please."

Sky takes his boyfriend's shoulders and gently presses their foreheads together. "You're not allowed to die on me," he murmurs.

* * *

"Hey, Sky, you hear about that new girl?" Ezekiel asks on the way to the command center. "Some of the pilots say she may be another ace." He bounds ahead of Sky in a show of enthusiasm that would, under normal circumstances, have made him laugh. As it is, however, the commander isn't in the mood for laughing.

"Girls aren't fliers, Zeke. They don't have the stomach for it," Tanner scoffs.

Sky shakes his head. In his mind's eye, he sees a strong young woman in a pilot's jumpsuit standing on the edge of the Dexlabs roof, looking out into the sky. "I knew a girl who flew better than anyone once."

"Then where is she?"

Sky doesn't know how to answer.

The image dissolves like dust in the wind, scattered particles of forgotten litanies and a girl who crashed far too soon.

* * *

"Raider Five! Your left engine's on fire! Pull out!" Sky orders from his own cockpit. The grey and black Warbird flies ahead of him, rolling and diving through the mass of fusions with smoke in his wake.

::I'm fine! I can handle a little heat!::

::Raider Five, I'm no expert, but I don't think your engine can take much more of that.::

"Thank you, Ben," he says into the microphone hidden in his console. A green Warbird darts into the fray; it launches two torpedoes at a cluster of monsters chasing his comrade. "Good work, Raider Two. Cover Raider Five until he can get out of there."

::But sir! I-::

"End of discussion, Five."

The grey and black Warbird shoots out of the combat zone, and Sky notes with satisfaction that Nevermore is flying in the direction of the base.

::Sir, I think I have the shot, do I have the- Raider Five! What're you doing?::

Sky curses as he turns his attention to his scanners. Sure enough, Nevermore's jet is zooming back into the battle, guns blazing. He can only watch as the rogue teen's engine goes in its entirety and he drops from the sky in a death spiral.

"Computer! End simulation!"

The holograms disappear, revealing two teen pilots. The younger of the two has an angry scowl and his arms are crossed petulantly. The older stands at attention in a much more neutral position. Despite his ambivalent appearance, Sky can see the rage boiling beneath Ezekiel's skin.

"Does anyone want to explain what that was?" he says as he steps out of the command room. He does his best to keep his voice even in the face of Nevermore's scowl deepening.

"You tried to pull me out of a situation I had _handled_ ," the teen says, sweeping his blonde hair out of his eyes.

"If you call that "handled" then you need to get your head checked, because that definitely wasn't _"handled"_ ," Ezekiel retorts bitterly.

Sky holds up a hand in warning. "Thank you, Ezekiel, but leave the scolding to me please."

"As much as he deserves it, we don't have the time, Dreamy."

Sky nods in acknowledgement. "Alright you two, you're dismissed." Both pilots exit the room, bickering as they go. He turns to Commander Tennyson and asks, "Not that I didn't appreciate the help back there, but what's so important that you needed to come in person?"

The look on the intergalactic superhero's face tells him everything he needs to know.

* * *

He runs through his pre-flight checks, careful to not let his emotions overtake his concentration. It wouldn't do Squad 106 any good their if rescue team crashed mid-flight.

His pilots are already down one commander; he doesn't want to make it two.

* * *

The waiting is the worst part.

His engines hum beneath him, prepped for an immediate take off in case Fuse decides that he will not be bested today. Keen eyes scan the immediate area for movement, friendly or decidedly not, as his anticipation rises with every second gone.

Smoke curls into the air beyond the tree line somewhere in the middle of this mutated, wicked forest in which hides countless dangers the likes of which no one had ever thought possible only a few years ago. A flash of pink soars above the trees for just a moment before darting back into vivid green foliage and Sky knows they're on their way.

Who they'll have with them remains to be seen.

* * *

Commander Tennyson is the first one out of the trees, carrying a limp form in his arms as comfortably as he can while running for their lives. He stops for a moment to shout an order at someone behind him and soon, fourteen more people stream from the trees either running under their own power or hobbling along with the help of another.

He lowers the bay doors and a mass of bodies rush on board his plane; he tries to ignore the stench of blood that they bring with them and the knowledge that most of it did not come from their escape or even themselves. The pilot finds himself running through a headcount of the people on board, noting with some trepidation that there should be seventeen passengers in total: six rescuers, eleven rescuees.

And there's no flash of fiery red among them.

A hand claps down on Sky's shoulder. "Blossom and Jack should be back with him in a moment. I'm not sure what else they might be bringing with them. Are you ready for a fast take off?"

He doesn't even have to look up to know that Tennyson is asking a lot more that that. _Are you okay? Can you handle this? If the worst happens, are you ready to make the call?_ The questions go unspoken, but they ring out in a tense silence.

Sky doesn't answer. Once again, he's not sure what to say.

* * *

For such a prestigious company, DexLabs really has a problem with finding comfortable chairs.

Sky can't help but notice how his back aches and his leg cramps as he bounces it up and down but he can't focus. Can't think. It's almost as if he can't breathe but he's breathing just fine because there's still oxygen moving through his lungs and _what's taking so long?_

Time passes slowly, so when the doctor steps out of the room with a terribly downtrodden face and a mournful expression, the pilot dissolves into a full blown panic attack.

* * *

Squad 106 becomes synonymous with the injustices of Fuse, despite the fact the shadow group never came into contact with him whatsoever, despite the fact that it wasn't even Fuse, it was one of his radioactive green henchmen going rogue.

No one cares.

So Sky moves forward with an ever growing sickened feeling in his stomach while he lies over and over again to his pilots as per orders from Mandy herself. He looks into the angry gazes of children and teenagers filled to the brim with a hate and rage they should never have had to build. He sees the flames and the pain and the sadness that cloaks them all, choking out their innocence and childhood.

* * *

He passes the Sky Raiders on to a young ace pilot whose proven herself on more than one occasion in multiple battles so that he can take up a position he never wanted, never earned, never thought he'd have to take.

He still can't sit in a cockpit.

* * *

People pour out of the building in droves. The younger ones, the kids who haven't broken, whoop and holler all around him; they dance and sing their joy under putrid green skies.

Others, the ones who aren't tired or battle weary but aren't quite so ebullient put up a happy front, knowing that beyond this moment there is so much more to do. The world is damaged, lost, and someone needs to rebuild.

The old timers, the teens now looking on to adulthood, whether that means decommissioning or saying goodbye to old friends, stand mute, staring at a world that is now free. They've dreamed of this day, _he's_ dreamed of this day, but now that it's here… what next?

What do you do when the last few years of your life have been dedicated to war?

Whatever adults remain on this broken planet stand apart in the shadows of towering buildings. They acquiesce to the knowledge that their time has passed, and that in order for the world to move on, they must take a step back and pass leadership on to the ones who've held it for the better part of three years.

Around these soldiers, the party rages on and on. A giddy feeling hangs over the crowd like a cloak.

It can't last. Everyone knows that.

So they make the most of it while they can.

* * *

As he steps outside he finds himself a newly arrived guest to an impromptu party to which thousands of people have been invited. It's easy to get lost in the crowd. A comfort, even.

So he stands, staring up at the skies, wondering, remembering, mourning.

He swears he sees a flash of familiar red out of the corner of his eye; he hears a voice in the wind. He sees a hand stretch for the sky with an unanswered question and feels two surprisingly strong arms wrap around his waist in a silent plea for him to not leave.

Then it all vanishes from his mind. The stars barely twinkle through a green haze and he realizes that he can't remember their names, only their faces, their actions, their styles and jokes and laughs and everything in between. His ghosts don't shine down on him like they used to, instead, they live on in his memories.

His hope is gone now, poisoned by fusion matter, smoke, and death.

His memories are all he has, all he'll live for.

* * *

 **A/N: Whooo... That got harder and harder to write towards the end. I mean, I already knew what would happen since I had it all planned out, but I found myself getting attached to a few of the characters. That one scene with Gilly and Sky on the roof came up out of nowhere and was the last thing I wrote, so I've been wrestling with where or even if I should add it in. The ending was pretty hard too, so if I could get some feedback on this I'd be much obliged. Anywho, thanks for reading! Drop a comment if you want (as long as it's constructive) or don't.**

 **Maybe I'll add to this someday.**

 **TTFN! - stormnml**


	2. There Was a Snafu

**Wow... I know I said this was a one-shot, but I can't get this universe out of my head. It's a little scary actually, but I keep seeing people and places in my head and I just keep thinking, he or she has a story. I want to tell it. So... here we go with my riff on a time traveling character FFU. For the record, I do not own Fusion Fall, nor do I know any of the actual dialogue in the opening scene. My AU, my rules.**

* * *

It wasn't so much of a volunteered as much as it was a voluntold.

Well, that's what she tells herself as she steps into her suit. The thing looks like a puffy marshmallow with holes poked in it and feels like an oven when she's wearing it. She and her father have lovingly named it the Stay-Puffed Marshmallow Suit because they absolutely _refuse_ to call it the Chronal Vortex Protector, much to Dexter's chagrin.

"He can live with it," she mutters, "I don't see _him_ stepping into a time-travelling death trap."

"What was that, Stacy? Do you have a concern?" her DexLabs guide says, beaming from ear to ear with one of those god-awful plastered-on smiles. "Would you like some water? Maybe something to eat?"

"No, I'm fine." Why is this suit so friggin' hard to put on? She yanks it up her torso and shoves her arms through the sleeves. As soon as she places the helmet over her head, the thick fabric conforms to her body, hissing out any extra air. "Let's get this shindig on the road."

Stacy breathes in deeply, an unsettling claustrophobic feeling tugging at her innards as she stands inside the time machine - sorry, _Chrono-phaser_ \- and stares down the dim wall mere inches from her face.

"Ms. Gillis, can you hear me?" soft Russian tones sound through a small speaker she hadn't even realized was there.

"Yeah. I hear you."

"Good," comes the practical response. She has to grit her teeth to keep herself from snapping at him. This boy who can't be much older than herself literally holds her future in his hands, it wouldn't do her any good to anger him.

"Alright." A hologram appears before her, showing a bespectacled boy at a set of controls. There's an excited gleam in his eyes and a tiny grin on his face as he says, "Computress, activate - Deedee, no!"

" _Alright." A hologram appears before her, showing a bespectacled boy at a set of controls. There's an excited gleam in his eyes and a tiny grin on his face as he says, "Computress, activate - Deedee, no!" A girl appears in the corner of the screen, but a rough set of hands pull her back. The boy lets out a sigh of relief. "Thank you. Now, Computress, activate the Chrono-phaser on my mark! Three, two, one-"_

Everything stops.

 _Everything stops._

There's an awful feeling in her stomach seconds later and she has to get out. She has to get out, _now!_ She slams her hand down on the emergency abort button, gasping for air that isn't there because she can't breathe; she can't breathe, and she has to get out. Instinct takes over and she yanks her now flimsy suit off of her body with little fanfare.

The doors open.

Instead of a warm human embrace, she's wrapped in a balmy, sticky feeling that clings to her skin like a vice. There's a crackle of thunder - what she hopes is thunder anyway - off in the distance. Ruins of a once towering building rest around her covered in some green goop that seems to corrode at the metal matter. For her, seconds have passed.

For them, it's definitely more than minutes.

Everything's wrong.

 _There's an awful feeling in her stomach seconds later and she has to get out. She has to get out,_ now! _She slams her hand down on the emergency abort button, gasping for air that isn't there because she can't breathe, she can't breathe and she has to get out. Instinct takes over and she yanks her now flimsy suit off of her body with little fanfare._

 _The doors open._

 _Someone takes her into his arms in a tight hug that doesn't do anything but squeeze more air that still isn't there out of her lungs. There's shouting, but it's not panicked, it's_ celebratory. _For her, seconds have passed._

 _For them, it's minutes._

 _Everything's right._

* * *

"Take this!" The girl with the red hat shoves a gun into her hands before she can get a word in edgewise.

"But, what do I do with it?"

Ben Tennyson - holy crud, it's Ben Tennyson! - glances at her with an incredulous expression. "You point it in the direction of any green glowy thing and fire," he says as if it should be second nature to Stacy. "Now, come on. We need to get to safety."

The two teens run off in the direction of a nearby cliff and leap out of view.

" _Take this!" Her character on the screen shoots its leg out to catch the other fighter in the jaw. "And that! And some more of that!"_

" _What do I do with this, Ms. Gillis? It makes very little - aaugh!"_

 _Stacy stares at the redhead seated on the not-so-comfortable couch at her side. "If you didn't want to play Sumo Slammers, Dexter, you didn't have to."_

 _The boy shakes his head. "My father gave me an ultimatum: play this," he waves his hands in a rather undignified manner at the screen, "idiocy, or have a tea party with the girls. I chose idiocy."_

 _The image of Dexter decked in a pink boa and a crown singing the Rainbow Monkeys theme song makes her giggle. "Good choice. Again?" she says, lifting Dexter's discarded controller._

* * *

"Get to the ship, Stacy!" Ben cries into the wind, the tech wing slashing at him with its razor-sharp claws.

She runs, her heart pounding and her nano speeding along just above her shoulder. Numbuh 2 is waiting for her on board, hand outstretched, his face a mixture of solemn and panicked as the world crumbles beneath them.

 _CRACK!_

The cement she's running on gives way, and she has to leap for the ship with all her might. A tiny hand tugs at her outstretched arm in a futile effort to carry her across the gaping hole of nothingness. She manages to just barely grasp Numbuh 2's arm with her own and he pulls her into the small craft, both teens breathing heavily.

She looks back at Dexter's home to see the beautiful piece of architecture sink into a mass of fusion matter. All around the area, cement and buildings vanish beneath green slop, taking Earth's greatest heroes with it. She can't help the gasp that escapes her lungs as the final resistance to Fuse falls and with it, the future.

She steels herself and turns to Numbuh 2. "How do I get home?"

 _::Get to the platform, Stacy!:: one of the lab techs instructs. Stacy stares out at the obstacle course stretching out in front of her. Robotic arms swipe at air, a series of paintball guns blast away, and machinery whirrs and tumblers rattle in the mostly hollow space._

 _She peeks over the edge of the platform on which she is standing and mentally measures her rather large distance to the floor. "Uh, Dad, I don't remember you saying that this was a_ mid-air _test."_

 _::Dexter changed it this morning, Stacy. There's padding in your suit if you fall.::_

 _She examines her new test suit carefully. There doesn't seem to be any padding, but then again, this is Dexter, and his word is pretty solid. Stacy glances over the edge one more time and her stomach flops like a fish at the sight._

 _She grips her board tightly and activates the gravity controls. The board lights up with a hum and lightens considerably in her hands. She drops it in front of her; she hops on the hover board and maneuvers carefully to get a feel for the tech. She brings her hands up in a thumbs up sign. "I'm set."_

 _::Whenever you're ready, Lab Rat.::_

" _I'm_ not _a lab rat," she growls, kicking herself into gear. She narrowly misses one of the first arms, "jumping" over it with a sharp jerk of her knees. The next arm comes out of nowhere and slams into her stomach, sending her tumbling end over end to the floor. Sure enough, the portion of suit covering the part of her body that slams into the floor puffs up in the fashion of an airbag before slowly deflating and depositing her on the floor._

 _::Do you need some cheese as motivation?::_

" _Dad, I'm gonna kill you if you don't shut up," she mutters as she clambers to her feet. The silver board floats a foot away, bobbing in almost a mocking manner._

 _Stacy hops aboard and flies back into the gauntlet. She dodges the arms with ease this time around and launches herself into the next section of the course with reckless abandon. Paint pellets whiz past her face and torso; her body contorts with the gunfire and somehow manages to avoid almost every bullet. A wall rises out of the floor to quickly for her to dodge, so she makes a flying leap for the platform just beyond it._

 _A hand snatches her own before she can fall to the floor and yanks her onto the platform. She lays there, panting and aching and hoping that it's over. She looks up into the eyes of her savior._

" _Dad, can we go home now?"_

* * *

The hologram flickers and sputters as Dexter speaks, and Stacy can't help the worry that cuts through her thoughts. His speech is slow, unsteady, and, despite his claims of being "fine", Stacy knows that he isn't. Labored breathing comes through the unstable feed and she can hear another male voice yelling something in the background.

The eyes behind those glasses never waver for a moment as he tells her that she can change this.

She can make it right again.

 _The hologram beams brightly even in the Gillis' living room, and Stacy can't help the annoyance that cuts through her thoughts. Dexter speaks in that irritating soft, commanding voice as he tells her that she is "fine" and that she should come back to run more tests. Another male voice speaks in soft tones in the background, likely coaching the teen genius through his speech._

 _The eyes behind those glasses never waver for a moment as he tells her he wants her help._

 _He wants to make it right again._

* * *

The pieces come together slowly at first: a small hunk of metal here or there, maybe a wire or two, all coming from the monsters patrolling just outside the shields. Over time, the machine begins to look a little more like its former self, albeit much less shiny and new.

Dexter will have a fit, but if it gets her home, she doesn't mind.

Her nano floats around her head; the mini-Buttercup occasionally utters some seemingly helpful comment as Stacy places sheet after sheet of unusable metal to the side of the junk pile. A giant robot - Hoagie calls it Megas XLR - looms above her, its eyes devoid of light and its limbs almost completely rusted over. She's often wondered why it's here and not out fighting the good fight, but everyone, when asked, evades the question or simply cannot answer.

She's stopped asking. The looks most people give her are far too common and far too much to bear. Stacy simply adds more names to her list and moves on to the next part she needs. There's nothing she can do now, in this time.

A small circular piece of metal with wires protruding from the bottom falls out from beneath a metal sheet. Stacy dives for the fallen object, carefully cradling its cool metal head in her hands. Nano Buttercup chirps excitedly and bounces up and down in the air like a young child at Christmas.

Stacy snags her partner out of the air and covers her small mouth, shaking her head. She silently points to the wasteland outside the gates and places a finger to her lips in a shushing motion. Buttercup's eyes widen in understanding; the little girl nods the best she can. Stacy allows the nano to escape her strong grasp and trains her ears on the environment.

The junkyard is not shielded, unlike most other potentially useful areas. An engineer back at base camp told her that once, back in the earlier stages of the war, her current location was one of the most heavily shielded places on Earth due to the presence of the giant machination towering over her. There had been hope of repairing the monstrosity - old, rickety wooden platforms climbing its midsection is proof enough - but as the war went on, its repair, and the shield protecting it, went on the backburner to make space for more immediate problems.

It's easy to forget that although there are gates forming a high perimeter around towering mounds of metal pieces which block monsters from spotting her, without a shield, the beasts can still hear any movement or sound she makes. Something passes along the outside of the gate but doesn't stop or acknowledge the girl's position. Stacy lets the air out of her lungs as soon as its shadow leaves her vicinity.

"You need to be quiet," she hisses to her partner. "Those things out there can hear you, and we're not prepared for a fight." Nano Buttercup wriggles impatiently within Stacy's hands, causing the teen to chuckle softly. She releases her nano into the air and retrieves the small red component from where she had thrown it to the ground in her haste to retrieve Buttercup. "Let's head back to base camp," she whispers. "Hoagie says we're really close to fixing the time machine."

She shoves the part into her pack and begins the long, perilous journey back to Sector V base camp.

 _It all seems to happen in hyperspeed. She's not in the KND, but she hears enough shushed murmurs to know that something big has happened. Both adult attacks and KND missions have stalled, and the teens haven't terrorized any fifth graders for days. It's almost as if everything has been shocked into a standstill, caught in the doldrums of some momentous event that no one quite understands._

 _Then word makes it to DexLabs that Ben Tennyson showed up in Bellwood battered and bruised, raving about some sort of alien menace that managed to take out the Plumbers. The event is laughed off with the usual, "It's Bellwood's problem," and life goes on as normal. Dexter locks himself in his lab for days and only comes out for coffee or broccoli._

 _No one expects green slop falling from the sky just outside Pokey Oaks North._

* * *

 _Stacy shifts uncomfortably in her seat, her pencil tapping out familiar rhythms on the desk in front of her. Mr. Graff stands at the head of the classroom, wildly waving his hands in the air as he delivers a tirade on the evils of run-on sentences. The teen stares out the window to her left at clear blue skies and kids playing on the playground. She can't help but wonder what her father will have her test today. A rocket launcher would be cool. So would a jetpack. Maybe even a-_

" _Stacy, do you have something you'd like to share with the class?"_

 _Stacy jerks out of her imagination with a startled, "Uh…" Someone off to her side chuckles, and soon, almost all of her classmates are doing their best to hold back their laughter. "Not… really?"_

 _She's sure her chemistry teacher is about to say something - probably give her a detention, she thinks wearily - but a loud alarm and red flashing lights send everyone scrambling for the emergency hatches at the back of the classroom. It's nothing new to any of them. When you go to school with the Powerpuff Girls, this kind of thing happens every Monday._ Strange, _though, Stacy thinks to herself as she slides through various tubes,_ it's Thursday. We're off schedule.

 _She doesn't have time to think any further because she's gently deposited on the floor of Dexter's Panic Room. Students mill about, eating chips and talking with each other in hushed tones. A TV screen which covers an entire wall of the large room displays the words NO SIGNAL. Stacy brushes herself off -_ although _, she admits,_ Dexter has probably sterilized the tubes with extra strength Lysol or something _\- and approaches the monitor with a fair amount of apprehension. With Dexter's ultra-preparedness, there should be signal come hell or high water. So what happened?_

 _A large crash sounds above them and tremors rock the room. Someone screams, and very quickly everyone else starts screaming too. The sound becomes a tidal wave of fear, and, no matter how hard the teachers work to quiet it, it grows louder and louder._

 _Stacy, having exhausted all her options on the external panels - not even changing inputs had worked - begins prying at the computer's panels. Another tremor pushes her into deeper urgency. She needs to know what's going on up there. Now. She tugs one more time and the panel comes loose, coming off the CPU with the sound of tearing metal. Circuitry fizzles and crackles beneath an oozing green mess. A few drops line the panel in her hands; it eats away at the metal and plastic shielding like it's nothing but paper. In moments, there's nothing left in her hands but tiny pieces of rust and grime, and even that's getting eaten up too. The unknown goop burns her hands, and she drops it in surprise._

 _It burns holes in the floor._

* * *

 _News reports say that the Powerpuff Girls were successful in destroying the green pod that came from the sky._

 _For some reason, Professor Utonium, her father, the girls, and Dexter aren't so reassured._

* * *

" _Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends was attacked today," the smiling news lady says cheerfully, as if nothing were wrong in the universe and good people hadn't died. "DexLabs is currently opening itself up to any refugees."_

 _Stacy tears her attention from the television and grabs three more blankets. "How many guests do you think we'll have, Computress?" she asks. She makes a mental note to ask for more towels. They're running low._

" _Law Enforcement reports that there were seventy survivors of the attack," the AI replies smoothly. Stacy grimaces. Seventy survivors, but how many casualties? She almost asks, but the words die in her throat._ Sometimes _, she supposes,_ it's better not to know.

* * *

 _Schools cancel classes three days later._

 _It's hard to have class when everyone above the age of eighteen disappears overnight._

 _(Thankfully, everyone at DexLabs is safe and sound.)_

* * *

" _Holy shit," one of the lab techs breathes, "that's the fourth one today."_

 _Four different video feeds take up space on the monitors. Each one displays a different place and a different battle._

 _One, most easily recognizable to the group, shows the Powerpuff Girls battling a gigantic three-headed green dog at Pokey Oaks North. Flashes of pink, green, and blue cross the monster's face like lightning bolts._

 _The second is another familiar place to them, Bellwood. There, dozens of little white creatures dogpile a large dragon creature. The dragon rears its head, launching five of the little guys over its head and onto the street. All of the small aliens except one vanish into thin air._

 _Mojo Jojo shows in some sort of neighborhood, battling a number of ninja-like creatures. A yellow figure does a dramatic pose before leaping into the fray._

 _The last is the most interesting, in Stacy's opinion. A group of kids shoot strings of yellow and red at green harpys. For a second, she can almost swear they're shooting ketchup and mustard. That's beyond the realm of possibility, isn't it?_

 _A gasp sounds through the viewing area. Excited murmuring pulls Stacy out of her musings and, just above the noise, she can hear someone whisper, "Where's Buttercup?"_

* * *

Stacy shifts uncomfortably on the hastily-put-together cot, her legs swinging to and fro off the raised edge. She grimaces as an unplanned movement jerks her shoulder and calls, "Hey, Doc, you almost done over there?"

A nurse shushes her quickly and Stacy winces. Infirmary. Sleeping patients. Right. There are no dividers for privacy; nothing can block her voice. Still, her shoulder hurts like heck and she really needs to get back out into the field if she has any hope of fixing her ticket home.

A boy just a little younger than she bustles into the tent. His brown hair sticks up in multiple directions and deep bags rest beneath his eyes. A medical band hangs loose and crooked on his upper arm; his white coat haphazardly hangs loose on on shoulder. His eyes narrow at one of the kids on a cot by the door and barks, "27, if you move so much as an inch, I will sedate you into oblivion with very large needles and not let you out of here until you're a teenager." A whimper comes from the kid and the medic nods, satisfied.

"96, this Agent's been bothering us for awhile now," the nurse who shushed Stacy whispers. "Can you get her out of here, please? She's driving us nuts!"

"I can hear you, you know," Stacy says crossley. The boy glances her way and says something unintelligible under his breath to the nurse, who bustles out the tent. The boy ambles over to her cot, taking the time to speak with a few injured soldiers along the way.

When he finally approaches the time-traveller, he scowls. "Just what I need," he moans, "another impatient frontliner." He snatches the clipboard from the foot of the cot and gives it a cursory glance. "Shoulder pain. You…" he gives her a doubtful look, "you jumped off a crumbling building and someone grabbed you out of the air. There's something you don't read every day."

Stacy shrugs. "What can I say? I get myself into crazy situations a lot. Oh, and that," she points to the sheet with her good arm, "is old news. I actually jumped on the back of a fusion and tried to ride it."

96 snorts. "There's a girl here on base who's got you beat. She _time travelled._ " He begins pressing on her shoulder. "Tell me when you feel pain. But yeah, I'm still waiting on her to come in complaining of some temporal side effects," he says with just a hint of disdain.

His fingers dig into a tender spot and she yelps. "You - ow, darn it! - don't approve of time travel?"

"If people were meant to time travel, they'd be born with the ability to do it," he says, grabbing a roll of gauze from the desk next to the cot. "Just a bit of a sprain. You should be fine in a few days." He sighs. "I would recommend going off duty for a few days, but you frontliner types refuse to listen to reason so I'm recommending a light mission load."

She jumps off the cot, ignoring the withering glare 96 turns in her direction. "I'll take that into consideration, doc," she says with a wry grin. As she begins to make her way out of the tent, her hand hits something on the boy's desk. She fumbles with it for a few moments just before it hits the floor. Stacy inspects the object carefully. It's a picture containing a group of kids, each decked in standard DexLabs gear.

"Who're they?" she asks.

96 takes the photo and his eyes take on a misty quality. "Squad 106," he murmurs, "black ops team. Made to do what everyone else didn't want to." He looks down at the image in his hands and points at one of the soldiers: a girl just a little shorter than the others.

Everything about her stance - leaning back on her hind leg, her hands clasped gently, but firmly, upon a null void gun - screams nonchalant. Her face tells a different story. A small smile tugs at her mouth, and her eyes are filled to the brim with excitement.

"That's Manami Ryoko, our commander," 96 says. He continues through the picture, pointing as he goes. "Slicer." A wiry boy sporting a goofy grin. "The Boom Triplets." Two boys and a girl, all with similar blonde hair huddled together. "Numbuh 312, our SIC." A tall girl holding a clipboard at her side, her face perfectly blank in the picture of seriousness. "And Wallcrawl." A slight kid scowling off to the side, his arms crossed defensively over his chest.

"Do you guys still go on missions?" Stacy questions. The misty look in 96's eyes quickly morphs into an impregnable expression.

"No," he mutters, "most of 'em are dead." He puts a hand up before Stacy can ask her next question. "A recon mission went wrong," he continues, answering the unasked question, "everyone except me and her died. The team was officially disbanded, I was taken off the front lines, and Manami disappeared."

"Disappeared? You mean like she's MIA?" Stacy asks. She's probably tiptoeing on thin ice, but curiosity overwhelms self-preservation.

"No," he says, looking at something on his scans, "I mean disappeared. She just vanished from DexLabs one night. There's people out there who believe she ran away out of guilt."

"Would she do that?"

96 snorts and places the thin film on his desk. "No. If they knew Manami at all they'd know she never ran away from anything. My bet is, she was hurting. Manami was one of those people who took every mistake to heart and blamed herself for… everything." His eyes glaze over again. "She took the team's deaths pretty hard. I wouldn't be surprised if she just wandered into an infected zone and took out as many fusions as she could before they could get her."

Stacy nods. "I'm betting you knew her better than anyone."

"I did," the boy whispers. "I knew her before she became Manami Ryoko."

A patient on the other side of the tent groans, and sharp tones fill the tent. Stacy jerks to attention and turns to the medic, but he's already rushing to the other kid's bedside. The nurse on duty whisks Stacy out the tent, saying, "You're patched up. We need the bedspace."

Having been left with the last cryptic words of Numbuh 96, Stacy walks to Numbuh 2's command post, already placing a new name on her list.

* * *

 _Stacy is labeled as a non-combatant by the command staff, citing her value in the labs as the reason she's not allowed on the front lines. She stands, her back rigid, as Dexter explains his latest weapon of mass destruction to her. She cannot help but think that science isn't meant for this, for war and killing. Science is meant for wonder and discovery and explaining the unexplainable things she comes across every day._

 _But she tests weapons anyway. Null-void explosives, ray guns, armor, medicines, and everything in between enter her hands and leave them just as quickly once she verifies that yes, they work as intended. She tries not to think about the child soldiers who will be receiving them in a few days time._

 _There's other experiments too. Those aren't in her father's department, but she hears rumors: Kids who volunteer out of some heroic stupidity and disappear, stronger, better soldiers replacing them weeks later. Names vanishing to be replaced with others completely foreign to any ears. Shadow teams that traverse the wilds and commit atrocities in darkness._

 _Clothes become threadbare as materials run out. They cannot make new equipment, so every piece of armor and every Null-Void is passed on when the previous owner cannot use it. There's a shortage of everything from eggs to vegetables because most of them are contaminated. Non-combatants become few and far between._

 _Stacy doesn't even know her own role anymore._

* * *

Her stomach rolls as she stares down her newly-repaired ticket home. The overwhelming task ahead looms menacingly in her imagination, and, for a moment, she can't move. The first step refuses to happen, and she realizes, with a start, that she can't do this. She can't change anything, and the future's going to happen no matter what because destiny can't be denied, and she's only seventeen-

A hand comes down firmly on her shoulder, shocking her back to reality. "Hey, you okay?"

She jerks around, hands raised defensively, and almost decks Numbuh 2. "What the hell, Hoagie? Don't scare me like that!" Stacy cries as she stumbles backwards.

"I'll take that as a 'no,'" the KND operative mutters.

"I'm fine," she grumbles through gritted teeth. She pushes past him and stares at the grey, egg-shaped machine. It seems like it was only yesterday that she was suiting up for her first trip through time.

She's not fine. She knows it, Hoagie knows it, and the machine in front of her most certainly knows it, but she _can't_ be fine until everything's fixed again. For now, she has to be a mixture of sad and angry and apprehensive because if she messes this up, it's the end of the world as she knows it.

No pressure or anything.

 _Her stomach rolls as she stares down the machine of her nightmares. She's not sure why, but her simple task of walking into that dark space looms menacingly in her imagination, and, for a moment, she can't move. She can't do this, not again. She can't have that sickening feeling in her gut that makes her lose her lunch and lose precious moments of her life._

 _A hand comes down gently on her shoulder, bringing her back to reality. "Lab Rat, are you okay?"_

 _She shoves the hand away and playfully giggles. "You know, you could have scared me enough to make me do something drastic."_

" _I'll take that as a 'yes,'" her father says. She pushes her way forward and stares down the machine._

 _Sharp alarms pierce the air with their screams, and everyone in the crowded lab clutches their ears. Off in the distance, Dexter stands at his console, wide-eyed and worried as scientists and security personnel realize that the shields have finally failed; they're dead, and it's only a matter of time before fusions come through the walls to kill them._

 _Hands shove her forward towards the glowing machine. Sharp pain rips through her torso as she stumbles into the container with a raspy voice whispering, "Survive, Stacy. Survive and warn them."_

 _No pressure or anything._

* * *

Someone had once asked her if she was afraid of heights. She'd replied tiredly that it wasn't the heights she was afraid of, it was the hitting-the-ground part that terrified her.

The falling, now that was just a means to an end.

She's falling now, but it's not a scary _Oh my God I'm going to DIE_ falling. It's more of a calm _I'm sinking in the water_ kind of feeling. Or maybe that kind of lazy drifting she likes to do after a race.

Her back meets resistance, some sort of barrier, but after a few seconds, it breaks with a soft tinkling. It's strange, because before, she was falling down, but now, she's falling up. It makes very little sense, but then again, nothing has made sense in a while.

A force places her gently on the ground. A train whistles somewhere in the distance and she realizes that she's in a train station. Stacy examines her surroundings. Benches dot the platform, vacant and unused. There's no one at the ticket counters, and, as far as she can tell, there are no people around, not even station workers.

"You look like hell," a wry voice rasps behind her.

Stacy whirls around to make some sort of witty retort, but upon seeing the girl addressing her, every harsh word dies. "Well," she says, scrambling for something to say, "you don't look much better." And she doesn't, really. Her olive green jacket has burgundy splotches that look suspiciously like blood, her long dark hair is tangled and matted, and she's clutching her side as if her life depends on it. Stacy doesn't have to ask who this other girl is; she knows the answer already. She's seen that face in the mirror too many times for her to not know.

"I'm sure I don't," Other Stacy - because that's the best thing she can come up with off the top of her head - says. "How far did you go?"

"About three years. You?"

The girl grins ruefully, "Minutes."

It shouldn't surprise Stacy, but for some reason, it does. The clues were there: an olive green jacket that she'd had to abandon when a Spawn got to it, long hair as opposed to her hastily chopped off short hair because of how many twigs and leaves got into it, and sneakers instead of boots because you really need something with support if you're running for your life every other second.

The girl falls to the ground with a small cry, curling in on herself when her side accidently hits rough cobblestone. Stacy moves forward, but the girl waves her off. "I'm fine," she mutters. "I'm not dying."

Stacy's seen enough injuries to know that, yes, she is dying, but she holds her tongue. Something tells her Other Stacy already knows and is simply lying for her benefit. "What happened?" she asks.

"We weren't ready," the girl says, her voice dripping with bitterness. "We weren't ready, and we lost everyone." She pulls her hand away from her side to examine her wound better. Stacy can't see much from where she's standing, but it doesn't look good at all. "They sent me back to warn everyone, but," Other Stacy chuckles, a dark raspy sound, "looks like I won't make it."

Stacy shakes her head solemnly. "I don't think you will," she whispers, finally allowing herself to drop to the girl's side. She cradles her counterpart's head in her lap and gently runs her fingers through her hair. "I'm sorry." And she is, she absolutely is sorry. Sorry Fuse decided to stick his nose where it doesn't belong, sorry for their fathers' insistence that they do something with themselves when not at school, and most definitely sorry for this girl's sacrifice _that won't mean a damned thing because she's going to die before she gets there._

 _But maybe, just maybe, this other girl. This other, battle weary, older, darker version of herself, who's jumped further through time than she ever will has a chance. She hopes so. Damnit, she hopes so._

 _The train's whistle is closer this time. The tracks rumbling intensifies. "I think we're out of time," Stacy says through labored breaths, "your train's almost here."_

 _The other girl stares down at her, her fingers going still. "How do you know it's mine?"_

" _I'm not moving," she whispers. Something bubbles up from her chest and she coughs violently. The train slows to a stop; its doors open invitingly, but she knows its invitation is for one person alone. "Go," she commands, putting every ounce of strength she has into the words, "fix your timeline. Kick Fuse's ass."_

 _Other Stacy stares at the train, but after a few moments she nods. "Die bravely," she murmurs._

 _She hops on the train with a final look and Stacy is alone again._

* * *

 _Minutes pass. She's really not sure if she's dead yet or not. The floaty sensation's back with a vengeance, and she can't figure out what's up or down._

 _Another whistle reaches her ears, and she's not floating anymore._

 _In fact, she's not hurting anymore either._

 _She's standing in the station again. She's alone again. But she's not hurting anymore. It's a little unsettling._

 _There's a train on the other side of the platform. Its doors are open too, beckoning someone. Funny. Wasn't she dying moments ago?_

 _Well, she figures, only other option is to jump on board, right?_

 _She does, and the train begins moving, quickly coming to a fast pace. The scenery morphs into moments: herself, hugging her father as if her life depended on it; herself, shaking hands with a smallish girl in a ponytail; herself - no, she realizes finally, her Other Self - speaking to a large group of kids, making strange gestures with her hands._

 _Other Stacy, running through the trees, a boy in a lab coat hot on her heels, dodging green globs of Fusion Matter._

 _Other Stacy, watching the skies as Planet Fusion lights up like the Fourth of July._

 _She smiles to herself as the images fade._

 _At least one of them made it okay._

* * *

 **Constructive Criticism welcomed!** _  
_

 **Regular font is Main Reality, _Italicized is what might have been._**


End file.
